


A Stoic Mind and a Bleeding Heart

by banafofool



Series: Reminder [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Delivery Person Stiles Stilinski, Derek's POV, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Scarred Derek, Scars, Wolf Derek, also porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banafofool/pseuds/banafofool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of Don't Let Me Darken Your Door, but from Derek's side of the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I got bored and decided to show what it was life from the Other Side. Definitely would recommend reading the first one, but if you're feeling adventurous and are okay with not knowing whats going on, go for it! Well, actually this could probably be read as a stand alone. Enjoy!

Derek woke up with a start, sitting up in his bed so fast that he had to shake his head to dispel the extra blood that had flown up there. He vaguely remembers a nightmare- _fire, smoke, screams, his own flesh curling as it burns-_ there's someone pulling up to his house. He shakes off the memories as he be thinks  _Peter,_ bitterly, remembering what he had said about sending a surprise. Derek prays that it's not a hooker. He forces himself up and stumbles to the door, the motions pulling uncomfortably at his scars. He makes sure to avoid any mirrors.

Certainly not a hooker- it's a young boy, probably fresh out of high school; long pale neck gleaming with a soft glow of youth, moles littering his beautiful skin, one in particular taunting Derek as only half of it peeks out of the boys shirt- his _work shirt. Must work for Peter down at the store._ Derek looks back to the boy, the man, noticing messy hair probably skillfully crafted to look that way, and a sinfully long body with broad shoulders. But none of this can compare to the smell as the man walks closer, staring intently at the house, his evil fingers tapping away at his thigh. He smells of purity, of happiness. Home. _Mate._

Derek lets out a predatory growl as the man- his mate- gets closer and swallows his fear and knocks. He forces it down at the startled look from the man on the other side of the door, immediately strangling the urge to bite and claim and rut into his mate until he's truly his. 

Voice gruff, he asks, "Where's the usual delivery girl?" Derek knows exactly where she is, Peter droning on about the new replacement for weeks. He needs to hear his voice. Derek watches as the delivery boy seems to jump in place slightly, shaking himself from his thoughts. 

"She went to college? Or moved out of state with her boyfriend? One of those. I'm the new guy that replaced her, Stiles, by the way, and I guess I get to bring your stuff now. My boss told me twice a week I think, but-" Derek startles at the deep voice, smooth and simple. Another growl works it way from Derek's throat, wanting to claim. Derek grips the door handle, closing his eyes as he gains control, telling the man- _Stiles-_ to just leave everything on the porch.

The boy stumbles back, somehow making each trip and stumble cute and Derek realizes he's in deep shit. He rips the door open, grabbing the bags as he watches Stiles walk. Derek's sure that Stiles saw his hand- the right one, with exactly six scars Derek could trace with his eyes closed- and then he smells the tinge of sadness in Stiles' scent. 

Derek lets out a mournful whine as he hears the car start and Stiles leave. 

. . . .

Derek spends the rest of that day trying to shake the scent of Stiles away as he reads. He sits upside down in a chair, falling into old, childlike habits as he reads Fight Club for the billionth time. He switches to half his body on and half off the chair, switches to normal, switches and switches, but he's becoming restless. Derek had heard about mates when he was younger- all in the  form of gooey bed time stories in the forest next to a fire and his family. He'd originally wanted one more than anything- the idea of there being someone in this world just for him made him crazy with want.

The want was extinguished in the form of fire burning his life and body to the ground. 

He had been afraid that a mate would create a power struggle; someone would have influence over him, and although he had nothing left, he couldn't bear the idea of anything happening again. But _Stiles._ Derek wanted desperately to claim him, but he wanted to get to know him. Wanted to know every detail, every thought, every ramble. Stiles seemed like someone who'd ramble. Derek smiles at the thought, but his body is still restless- he needs to run. 

Walking through the halls leading to the property outside his house, Derek begins to strip until he's naked. The scars still pull and stretch, healing over when he reaches too far. The small sting keeps him grounded, and he begins to shift. God, it hurts. It hurts so much more than it did before the scars- before Derek looked like a monster in all forms. His skin pulls and stretches too tight, scars tearing as he forces himself to shift all the way, into wolf form.

When the shift is complete and the haze of pain has dimmed, Derek rolls his shoulders, glad to feel nothing. The spell Kate had pulled didn't affect this form- no pain, no scars. Derek can feel everything though in this form; everything else. Can hear the birds, miles away, cooing in their trees, can see the smallest ant moving with it's fellow ants, can smell every living and dead thing in the forest. Colors shift, showing the things only the wolf can sense, unlike a real wolf; all magic of a werewolf. He beings to run, sprinting through the woods, pushing himself harder and harder with each thump of his paws on the dirt. 

He chases squirrels, releasing them once they're caught then chasing them again. He rolls in the streams and creeks, playing like a pup for the first time since the fire. He eventually comes to a clearing- tall, light green and brown grass grows here, small pebbles and rocks marring the earths surface. Derek forces his shift back, ignoring the pain that is always not as horrible going back. He lays in the grass, staring at the sky. His body is calmed after the run, the need to chase and catch satisfied. But now his body begins to thrum with a different need. 

Derek feels his cock harden against his stomach, already ahead of his brain in the memories of Stiles. His mate, tall and proud and beautiful, swallowing his fear of the monster behind the door he knocked on- Derek feels his cock twitch at the idea of his powerful mate. Trailing his fingers down his chest, Derek skims his nipples, letting out a soft gasp as the feeling is multiplied by the sensitive scars covering them. Thoughts of Stiles pollute his brain, the thought of chasing Stiles, catching him, _claiming_ him. He lets out a whine at the thought, his hands hastily grabbing for his leaking dick. 

The pace he sets for himself is quick and brutal, his need heightened to the point where he can't care about dragging it out, can't care about making himself last. Derek remembers the scent, thinks of what it would be like mixed with his- in his house, his den, his bed. Derek's body arches off the ground on a moan, his hand beginning to gain speed, tugging where he knows his knot will form. The feeling is magnified as he knows it's for his mate, the one meant for him. 

Derek wants to claim, but his mate is strong and brave- he would take what he wanted as well. And it's the thought of Stiles claiming Derek, taking him for his own, that pushes Derek over the edge and into oblivion. His knot catches at his hand, Derek tugs at it mercilessly, letting out sob after sob at the feeling. When it finally deflates Derek stands up, covered in his own mess. He begins the walk back to the house, feeling more peaceful than he has in a long time. He knows his mate- Derek decides to do his best to earn it though- wants to earn Stiles. Wants to get to know him. 

By the time Derek is done walking though the blur of trees and grass and animals, Peter is home, standing in the kitchen watching the tv in the living room. Derek walks in, unashamed as he puts his clothes back on as he reaches them scattered on the ground. Peter turns with a raised brow, deliberately making a show of flaring his nostrils. 

"So I take it you figured out what was so special about that present, huh little nephew?" Derek actually blushes at that, Peter smirking at him from across the room. "I mean, sure instincts are instincts, but Jesus Derek, you couldn't fall into a tree or river or something before coming back here? I haven't smelled this much of your jizz since you turned twelve and figured out what your dick could do." 

Derek huffs, leaving the room hastily, not even bothering to hide the blush as he hears Peter snicker. 

. . . . .

The next Friday Derek hears Stiles utter his name and a goodbye and Derek nearly whites out from how quickly the blood in his body rushes to his dick at the sound of his mate saying his name. The most important aspect here though is the fact that Derek can _feel_ Stiles smirking from across the yard. Derek viciously pulled everything inside, cheating and using his werewolf speed and strength as he shuts the door. 

That night Derek spends hours teasing himself, in the end begging, crying out for his mate- Stiles. He lets out a scream of Stiles' name as he comes, his knot aching and huge as he squeezes it rhythmically, remembering his name from those plump lips- picturing his mate being the one begging. 

Peter refuses to come upstairs until Derek "dejizzes, and washes the house in holy water."

Derek is happy to have the upstairs to himself.

. . . .

The next months are spent the same- every Monday and Friday with Derek waiting by the door like an eager puppy. He's aware of the irony. But he doesn't care, willing to wait all day, forever really, if it means getting to talk to Stiles. But he can't say much- small 'hi's' coming out whenever Stiles reaches the door. He just doesn't know how to talk to him. His instincts are pushing him to the point of whining at the door after Stiles leaves. So he goes to the only person who knows. 

"How do I control myself?" Derek finally relents, asking Peter for his advice. Peter doesnt look up from his soap opera, muttering, "You should fucking go to church Derek, god we're living in a house of sin with all the jerking off you've been doing-"

"Please." Derek lets his desperateness seep into his voice, and this time it's Derek who relents. "Meet him. But not as you, we all know about your body image issues Der-Bear, tsk tsk. Meet him in your wolf form, see if he's truly a worthy mate. Then it should get easier." 

Derek waits for a Friday, but gets nervous and chickens out halfway through. Peter pats his back, tells him that we all have performance issues sometimes. Derek smacks him in the chest so hard he rips open a scar. 

So he grows a pair and does it on the following Saturday. Peter knows, can sense the change, and sends Stiles. Now Derek waits, in his world of heightened senses for his mate. Colors blend and bend as he watches the sunlight move through the air, looking at the fallen blanket of leaves covering his lawn. He vaguely thinks that maybe they should fix this up when the baby blue jeep pulls into the mile long driveway. Derek's tail begins to wag on it's own in excitement. He watches from his bushes, his head poking just above, giving a suspicious look to Sitles. He waits for him to reach the door, and follows the scent. 

God, it's so much stronger. Derek can scent every molecule of Stiles' being; can smell all the feelings he's felt in the past few hours, can smell Jesus- can smell, just faintly there, the smell of his mates release where it must have dried against his stomach. Letting out a growl at the primal instincts telling him to claim, Derek forces himself to stay rooted to his spot. Stiles finally turns, fear and defiance towards his own fear coloring his beautiful features. Derek feels pride swell inside of him at the sight of his brave mate.  He steps forward slowly, allowing time for the bravery to fade and his instincts to become under his control again. 

Stiles doesnt run away screaming, so Derek gives in to one of his instincts. He very delicately leans forward, taking in the ethereal scent of his mate, pushing his own scent out, successfully leaving his scent and claim on Stiles. Stiles sighs into it, and Derek takes that as permission to lean forward and scent him more clearly, rubbing his head in the crook of Stiles neck and shoulder, mixing them. 

Stiles reaches forward slowly, seemingly warning Derek, although Derek is practically humming with excitement at the thought of his mate touching him. Derek sighs as Stiles pets him softly, running those long fingertips though Derek's fur. Derek lets this go on, content in this moment forever, letting it grow and extend for minutes on end. Eventually, the puppy like play feeling comes back, and he feints dropping to his front legs, letting go as he begins to play. And Stiles responds- playing and chasing with Derek for hours and Derek plays along, forcing himself gentle for his delicate mate. Derek can see it when Stiles realizes how long he'd been there, "Sorry buddy, I've gotta go. I've been standing in Derek's yard for like two hours- he's gonna think I'm a creep. Maybe I'll see you next time, huh?" leaving his mouth. Derek snorts, thinking about the fact that Derek probably qualifies for creep of the year by now.

Derek walks to the porch as Stiles walks to his car. He grins, feeling his body swell with happiness and glee at the day. Stiles smiles back from his car as he backs down the driveway, leaving Derek to sit peacefully on the porch, head on his paws, as he watches the day fade into dusk.


	2. Chapter 2

Although Derek was appeased with his instincts, he spent the rest of the weekend stuck doing something much worse; pining. He's literally counting down the seconds until Monday, actually has a timer going on his phone. He paces all of Sunday, Peter laughing at first and then tackling him to the floor after about four more hours of it. Derek forces himself into another run, this one much more harsh than the first, sprinting as hard and as far as he can. Books offer no escape, Peter's hijacked the tv to only play his soaps, and Derek can't even jerk off he's too excited for the next day. Excited for Stiles.

All during this though, he argues with himself- he can't decide whether or not he should face Stiles- show him the monster he's been made to look like even in his human form. The wolf tells him that it won't matter, Stiles is his mate after all. But he desperately needs to be liked- _loved -_ by the person he's meant to be with.  He can't let Stiles see him- surely the monster covered in scars would be even more terrifying than the beast Stiles met on Saturday. He decides that there will end up being two sides to the door (obviously), but his side, and Stiles' side.

It's with this mindset that Derek sits with a book, just staring at the pages without reading, at the foot of the front door on Monday. 

A page hasn't been turned in hours, Derek's eyes slightly dry from staring and coffee gone cold- when he hears the jeep pulling up. Excitement thrums through him, but this time his instincts don't scream or choke at him. Derek's in control, and he's ready to talk to his mate. Hearing Stiles whistle lowly as he places the groceries on the porch, letting the scent of his mate waft though the cracks, Derek stands up silently then sits down again, unsure. He can tell that Stiles is getting ready to walk away, so he rushes to knock at the door desperately. The heartbeat on the other side stutters just as Derek's does, but it's Stiles' breathing that hitches slightly as he freezes in place on the other side of the door. 

When it seems like Stiles won't make the first move, Derek clears his throat, softly saying, “Are you just going to stand there, Stiles?” Stiles splutters, letting out a mess of something about a parallel world with a prank door. Derek smirks to himself, feeling the weight in his chest lift at the confirmation that his mate is a rambler. Derek soaks in the silence in the next moment, feeling the panic build again as he fears that his mate may be afraid of him-

“Uh, Derek? Do you want me to go? Leave the groceries? Spontaneoulsy combus-“ The panic fades as Derek interrupts, “Stiles? Do you think we could just talk for a while? Is that okay?” His voice is strained with the earlier panic, but quickly fades to something sounding marginally hopeful towards the end. His ears burn. Derek can't remember the last time he was a blushing kid, begging for a moment of speaking to his crush. The thought leaves a mournful smile on his lips as he's shaken from his thoughts at a soft thump against the door. Derek realizes with a start that Stiles just sat down. 

Derek feels how lost they both are- Derek a socially awkward shut in, and Stiles being forced to sit and talk to a socially awkward shut in. The silence stretches out painfully like one of Derek's scars, Derek opens his mouth, nothing coming out. He opens, closes, opens again. He's about to say something weakly about the weather when Stiles smashes the silence to bits.

"So. Um, I dont know if there’s anything that you want to talk about in particular, but I’ve actually wanted to talk to you for a while. Is that weird? That feels weird to finally say out loud." Derek smiles, a small gaspy chuckle leaving him. The seconds tick by, Derek lost in his glee at the idea of Stiles actually _wanting_ to talk to him. It stretches longer than he's aware, but Stiles immediately rectifies the situation.

“So Um I'll just talk which is fine. I have attention issues so just letting me talk is usually the way to go. Uh. Ooh so I've been thinking about like old sayings lately, and did you know that the saying “curiosity killed the cat” is actually not quite right? Now this may be a lie that someone told me to crush my dreams, but I think the full quote is “ curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”And I think that if it's true, that basically some housewife somewhere got bored and didn't like her kids being curious, so to crush their dreams of wonder, she told them only the first half. That they will inevitably die if they are too curious. I think thats bullshit like wow, bitch, but you know I might be completely wrong so….”

The words leave him quickly, almost as if he's racing his own mind as he moves on to the next thing. Derek laughs. He can't help it, the giddiness, Stiles' obvious awkwardness too, the stupid quote, forces small, quiet laughs from him. The sound is gruff from disuse, Derek unable to even remember the last time he laughed like this. Stiles pretends to be insulted, Derek says something vaguely embarrassing, and the conversation takes off on it's own. They talk for what must be hours- Derek fading in and out of the conversation as Stiles seems to take the wheel and ramble off in his own world. Derek doesn't mind, in fact he soaks up the sweet, soft voice from the other side of the door, letting it sink into his ears and store itself in the parts of him that matter. 

At one point Derek recognizes the sound of paws hitting the ground- with a jolt he's thrown into memories of running wolfed out through the forest with the entire pack- before he realizes it's just Peter. He's come around back, probably out there waiting for Stiles to leave before he comes in. The mood on Derek's side changes, sobering slightly from the laughter of before. 

Derek asks smally, somberly, “Uh, I’m not going to get you fired, am I? You've been here for a while. I can call and tell them-“ This time, Derek's the one interrupted. 

“thats fine. they let me go early actually to drop off your stuff, which by the way I still have. We're all good.” Stiles says, Derek hearing the soft notes of pride in his voice through the door, probably happy to be taking back the wheel of the conversation. They don't have time though- Derek stands up, hears Stiles follow, and they say their goodbyes. Derek makes sure to have Stiles' promise that he'll stay again next time too. Derek opens the door once he knows the boy is off it- watching Stiles walk away, Derek's eyes scanning up and down his lean body as he walks towards his jeep. Derek watches the tight movement of muscles flexing in Stiles' back, watches the sauntering effect of Stiles' walk in the moonlight. 

He makes sure to close the door before Stiles can prove that he was watching.

. . . . 

The wait to Friday is spent in near hysteria. The pacing and sprinting of last Sunday nothing compared to this. Sure, for the first couple days he was on cloud nine- floating so high in bliss that not even Peter's snarky smirks could bring him back down. But it was around Wednesday that Derek broke, feeling himself desperate to see Stiles again. He made multiple calls to the grocery store wanting something to be delivered, Peter picking up every time with curses and threats to the point that Peter actually threatened to block the number. 

It's on that Wednesday that Derek truly breaks. He does the worst of the worst- curls up in an old blanket, smelling faintly of smoke, and begins to watch one of Peter's soap operas. The one he watches is -ironically- all about some hunky guy trying to woo the girl of his dreams. Derek does not take any pointers from the show, he swears. What he does do though is make popcorn, dipping the kernels in nutella before stuffing them in his mouth by the hand full. Peter comes home, confused before he comes in and sees Derek. He wordlessly joins him, hogging the blanket and stealing the nutella. Both refuse to admit it ever happened. 

Friday does come though, and Derek is again sitting by the door all day. Not bothering to lie to himself, he doesn't bother to bring a book, simply waiting in excitement for Stiles to get there. When he finally does, he launches into an explanation of a memory from when he was little, fully believing that the moon was made of cheese and that ice cream came from the clouds. Derek is shocked, passionately arguing back that it's much more logical that ice cream came from Antarctica, where all the ice comes from, and that the moon was made of chalk. Duh.

But the conversation fades out, and Derek is ecstatic to discover that Stiles is okay with simply enjoying the silence together- both of them sitting simple and easy, enjoying the other's company.

Stiles eventually breaks it, Derek having drifted off slightly in the past few hours. "Have you seen a wolf around? He's big and black, and adorable, and I may or may not be calling him Wolfy. And he was huge, and like soft, and awesome. Is he yours? Have you seen him around?” Stiles asks, eagerness easily coloring his tone. Derek holds back an outright laugh, letting a small restrained chuckle.

"Uh, that wolf's been a free loader for years- nothing to worry about really, he does have a tendency to eat the popcorn though."

The end of the day comes, the two of them saying sweet goodbyes to each other, blushes on their faces. 

. . . .

Weeks pass, the two of them being stupid and funny to themselves together. They talk about anything and everything; one day the subject is baseball, another day favorite animals, one day of silence and enjoying each other's presence. 

Derek feels his world narrowed to the moments with Stiles at that door, forgetting the world he'd built before of avoiding mirrors and hiding from the world. Derek wakes up one day, determined to open the door and let the world zoom out to include the real, physical Stiles, but he sees himself in the mirror and calls it off. Scars pollute his body, nothing compared to the polluting moles on Stiles' body. The scars lick up his body from where he'd been running down towards it, down the stairs and into the basement to reach his younger sisters. He takes off his shirt, looking at the ones marring his back; scars climb the knobs of his spine as if they led to heaven itself. The day is spent in the fetal position, drifting in and out of nightmares and real life. Peter comes home, wordlessly sitting with him for hours. Again, they don't speak of it. The only thing Peter does say is that Stiles can start delivering more. 

. . . . 

The world outside shifts into January, and Derek is becoming worried about having Stiles out in the cold. He still comes though, and Derek reminds himself to start ordering hot chocolate to leave out for him. The day starts out like any other, the conversation slowly fading into the peace they've come to need, when Derek just barely hears Stiles say something so soft. 

“Hey, Der? Uh, I'm gonna ask you something, and you totally don't have to answer its just that I kind of like talking to you, and I was wondering why you dont come outside, or let me in? Hell, make me stand on the porch with the door open?”

Derek feels his stomach drop, not knowing why he hadn't guessed that this may come up soon. Guilt racks him, again wondering why he's forcing Stiles to stand or sit out there nearly everyday, talking to someone like Derek. He can feel Stiles about to openly regret this, so he begins talking. 

"I wasn't supposed to be home. Ten years ago, one random day, I wasn't supposed to be home. Everyone else in my family was though, and she knew. I'd been dating this women-Kate. She made me think- I thought. She burned it down. All of it. She started it in the basement, I had been running, God, sprinting down those stairs to get to my little sisters. My sister Laura ended up pushing me out of a window, but not before we both got burned. She's dead. But I'm here. I'm here, remembering every day because I'm the monster- it's my fault, and now I have scars- jesus, scars everywhere to prove it." Although wavering, Derek ends on a flat note, “It was my fault. I thought that I could trust this person, and she burned my life down. I was there, in the house. I have- I have scars. All over, form the fire. I look like a monster. I am a monster.”

Derek feels a steady stream of tears running down his cheeks, the tight feeling of smoke burning his throat, his eyes, his scars feeling as if they've been alight again. There's a roaring in his ears, panic building with the memories, and Stiles talks. HIs voice is scratchy and rough but he manages to get out, “You are not a monster. It is not your fault, and I understand that you need this, you need to stay hidden, but just know that I- I’m here. Whenever you need me.” 

Stiles tells Derek about his mom.

The rest of the night is spent in silence, one of those peaceful ones, except in this one they're both trying to ignore the sniffling going on on both sides. 

. . . . 

The next Thursday, after days of healing and hollow feelings, Derek is humming softly at the door, waiting for Stiles to show up. He's lost in his thoughts, comfortable enough around Stiles that he doesn't even feel alarmed when someone approaches, at least until he hears the tears. Stiles collapses against the door, letting out heart wrenching sobs and cries and pleas to Derek. Derek hurts, aches when he can feel the sorrow spilling from his mate, the one he was put here to protect. Stiles slurs through his cries, 

“I was there. In the hospital when she went, I was holding her hand, I felt the life leave her. My mom left me, but she was still there but it wasn't her. Derek, it hurts, I hate this I hate being here when she isn’t, where do they go? Where did your family go, where did mine?’’

The words are tumbling and stumbling out of his mouth the way stiles would stumble down the stairs. Derek turns towards the doors, pressing his hands to where he knows Stiles' are pressed, cooing softly, trying to fix it, trying to make it better. But then he feels the air change, anger filling the empty void of sadness.

“Derek, I know you need this, but please, please look at me. Please let me see you!” But Derek can't- not when Stiles is like this, Derek can't throw another monster at him. He whines, instincts screaming, and Derek cries out when he hears Stiles huff out another pained cry as he gets up and begins to walk. Derek cries, hearing his mate letting out sobs of pain and frustration as he stumbles to the jeep. 

Derek doesn't move from his spot, crying the entire night, flexing and unflexing his scars until he's consumed by the never-ending physical pain to mask what he's done. What he can't take back from what he did to his mate- to Stiles. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek is shaken awake by Peter, finding himself still asleep at the foot of the front door. "You fucked up, nephew of mine." 

Forcing himself standing, Derek hangs his head, looking at the floor. Peter continues on, seemingly uncaring. "You realize that you fucked up, right? He's been quiet all week- nothing. Not a god damn word. People asked me if he was a _mute_. This is the same kid who has had complaints for never shutting up. Fix it."Peter leaves, seeming to have come by to yell at Derek on his lunch break.

Derek shuffles to the living room, sitting on the couch and going over the memory of the events. Stiles crying, begging to just see Derek- Derek whining, begging his instincts for help, for control. Derek feels the tear tracks on his cheeks, leftover salty tears tightening the scars further. Derek sits. Potentially wallowing in his own misery. Nothing different from the past ten years, and he's suddenly flown into memories of just after the fire, healing slowly, feeling skin knitting itself back together slower than even the average human. Peter had healed quickly, barely being affected by the flames or the spell binding the scars to Derek's body.

He hadn't talked for months, the actual most creepy part of it being that Peter had soothed the pain, cooed softly, taking care of Derek despite the pain in his heart. 

So Derek mopes- he sits and watches the soaps, eats popcorn and nutella on the couch, ignoring the disappointed looks sourced from Peter's face. So Derek forces himself up, leading himself out and into the overgrown yard- weeds outnumber any grass that's still growing, the dead leaves littering the ground. Derek rushes himself through the motions- picking up the leaves, forcing them to the edges of the property. He finds the lawn mower- deep and hidden in places that Derek doesn't care to go back to, ever.

He mows the lawn, scattering the cut up weeds and grass and god knows what else along the edges with the dead leaves. He even dusts off the porch, making the house look like something from a magazine, one where kids should be running and playing in the yard, mom and dad cooking in the kitchen. An ache forms in Derek's chest.

All the while, a plan begins to form in Derek's head. He decides that he has to leave- can go and see Stiles. His house would be better, Derek decides, not wanting to be seen by an entire grocery store. His plans dissolve though as Derek hears a familiar jeep beginning the mile long trek of driveway. His heart flies into his throat, disbelief coloring his features as he stands stock still on the porch. The broom falls to the porches' floor as he watches, shocked as the jeep pulls up to his house. Derek felt his face freeze- a look of what was debatably boredom on his face, despite the fear and anxiety growing within him.

Derek watches as Stiles gets out of the car- looking at Derek softly. The moment lasts for a few seconds, both of them simply staring, before they simultaneously take off towards each other. Derek sprints, his wolf crying out in victory as they meet half way, resisting the urge to pull Stiles up off the ground and into his arms. 

Derek buries his nose in Stiles’ shoulder, and when Stiles does the same Derek gasps softly. 

“Der… You didn't have to do this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so, so, excited to see you.. to meet you. But I came here to apologize. And to bring those fruit loops that are spilled on the ground right now,” Stiles whispers softly into Derek’s neck. 

Derek chuckles from his place at Stiles’ neck, but still doesn't pull back. Derek can tell by Stiles stiffening slightly when he catches on to what Derek is trying to do; he's hiding. Hiding his monstrous body from Stiles' eye sight. But Stiles is strong and brave, not taking any of Derek's bullshit. Stiles pulls back though, slowly and deliberately as if he's giving Derek time to run away. Derek considers it, but stands in place, trying desperately to be as brave as his mate. 

Derek can't watch though, can't see the disgust that will overtake Stiles' flawless features. He hears a soft gasp, fingertips softly grazing the scars of his forearms where his Henley sleeves are pushed up. Derek forces the breath slowly from his body as a thumb gently traces his eyebrow. 

“Definitely not a monster,” Stiles says, almost absentmindedly. 

His eyes fly open, Derek feeling the shocked awe overcome his face. Stiles explains quietly, “Monsters do not eat as many fruit loops as you do.”

Derek laughs, thinking about getting to tell Stiles one day that he had been ordering anything and everything in order to get Stiles to come and see him. The laugh is half nervousness, half true humor. But then Sitles' features harden, and he gives Derek a determined look. 

“Okay, loops aside, Derek…. You’re not a monster. I could never need a monster as much as I need you.” Suddenly Derek notices the edge of nervousness showing on Stiles' face. He realizes, belatedly, that Stiles probably just realized what he said. He pretty much declared his feelings. Derek's heart swells against his chest. 

. . . . 

Things return to how they were before; except now they sit together on the porch swing, talking and holding hands, each one gently cradling the other. 

Stiles still brings groceries every once and a while, meeting Derek outside with a smirk on his face every time. It’s on a day like that when Stiles is carrying in groceries when Derek comes up from behind him, gently wrapping his hands around Stiles' waist. He nudges Stiles' head aside, feeling Stiles chuckle as he willingly bears his neck. Derek buries his face in the crook of his mate's neck, mixing their scents until his wolf is satisfied. 

“You know, for a second on my way here I thought that maybe I had brought the wrong bag,” Stiles say quietly, a coy tone to his voice. “Oh?” Derek asks, biting down the column of Stiles neck as Stiles tilts his head back against Derek’s shoulder.

"There’s just this one extra thing in here that I thought-“ Stiles gasps at a well placed nip- “I thought was accidentally placed here.”

He reaches into the grocery bag, pulling out the small bottle of lube that Derek had called in for with blushing ears and cheeks. Peter had laughed until he hung up, Derek convinced he could hear Peter wheezing from the house. But it was worth it for the smile on Stiles' face and the growing hardness between both of their legs.

The next thing he knows, they’re kissing. Their tongues tangle together, a filthy entanglement of their need and helplessness for each other. Derek pulls away, meaning to ask , is this okay, are you sure, the lube was mostly the question that I’m too passive aggressive to ask properly. 

Stiles swoops in, kissing him hard and sound, bringing them back together. 

Derek understands, pulling away again, but this time he pulls Stiles into the bedroom. Soft, needy kisses are exchanged between them, and Derek leads them to the bed in the middle of the room. Derek's wolf revels in the idea of their scents mixing as he pushes Stiles gently to the bed. 

Derek reaches down, pulls up and off Stiles’ shirt, catching his thumbs along Stiles’ already hard and desperate nipples. Stiles releases a whine, and Derek reaches back up, rubbing soft circles into the small nubs. He feels his cock twitch as Stiles' muscles flex in his hips, pushing them into the air. “Please… Derek…” Derek lets out a whine of his own at the soft plea leaving Stiles' mouth. 

Derek kisses them both quiet, and pulls off his own shirt and pants, leaving him in only an obscenely tight pair of black briefs. Derek preens as he watches Stiles' eyes widen, talking in Derek's already hard and leaking bulge, leaving little to the imagination. 

Stiles rushes, grabbing a hold of his own pants, attempting to viciously tug them off as quick as possible. Derek catches his hands, placing them up above Stiles’ head on top of the bed. He doesn't know if Stiles realizes that this is what Derek needs- the trust. But the look in Stiles' eyes tells him that not only does Stiles know, he understands. Derek  leans down, leaves sweet, loving kisses across Stiles’ neck and chest. He simultaneously tugs off Stiles’ pants and underwear for him, as he sinks his blunt teeth into the meat of Stiles’ neck. 

“Oh, please, Derek,” Stiles whines, letting out a high pitched keen as Derek’s roughly calloused hand also finds it’s way into Stiles’ briefs. Derek watches as Stiles arches his back, hips coming off the bed as his body trembles. Derek's eyes are entranced by the image of his own scarred hand wrapped tightly around Stiles' arousal. He's already leaking at the tip, and Derek wants to taste- but instead, he gathers the precum, eagerly stroking faster and faster. Stiles throws his head back, his long, pale neck shown off to Derek. 

Derek can't help the words that fall from his mouth in soft murmurs, "You have no idea- no idea. You're so beautiful Stiles, all mine, perfect and sweet. I needed you so bad. Still need you." It's the truth. Stiles's eyes widen at the words, his hips pumping upward to meet the steady moving hand. Derek lets his small whines and moans guide his movements. 

Derek begins pushing it, tugging at Stiles' balls softly, and Stiles begins moaning loudly, "Der, Derek please, I’m gonna- gonna come,” the very last word is a drawn out, high pitched whine as Derek kisses Stiles neck while twisting his hand on an upstroke, pushing him over the edge.

Derek pumps him through it, letting out his own quiet groan as Stiles feebly grabs for Derek’s cock when he’s finished.

Derek pushes him away, fighting his own pleasure and instincts in favor of grabbing the lube that had been brought in and left beside them. 

Derek reaches for the lube, watching Stiles' heaving chest and glazed over expression. He lubes up his fingers, managing to only drop the bottle once in his fumbling excitement. Derek brings a lubed up finger to Stiles’ hole, easily pushing  it inside, giving a smirk to Stiles that says  _I know what you did last night_ at the loose feeling.

Stiles just smiles back down, and then gasps and rolls his hips onto the finger. Derek pushes in another, pressing them in and up, right against Stiles’ sweet spot, forcing a scream of pleasure from Stiles’ kiss-swollen mouth. 

Derek's cock twitches and he lets out a groan as he feels Stiles tighten on his fingers helplessly. “Please, please, Derek…” Stiles is beginning to beg, his hips quivering in the air as he’s pushed just to the edge of another climax. Derek pushes in, claiming Stiles with a soft cry. Stiles cries out too, feeling completely full; finally getting what he needs. But Derek- he nearly blacks out with the tight, slick feeling of Stiles tightening all around him, milking him already. God, he'd love to knot him up tight, bring him off over and over while they're stuck together. But he won't, not without permission. 

 The thrusts are wild and uncontrolled, both of them already too close to bother going slow. Stiles leans up and bites Derek’s neck, close but not quite touching the scars. Derek whines, bearing his throat willingly for his mate. The room fills with the smell of lube and sex- sweat mixes on Stiles' chest, harsh pants and whines filling the air. Derek feels Stiles reach up and strokes a finger softly over that eyebrow, the one with the scar dividing it, a soft, open mouthed smile shaping his mouth as he pants and gasps.

Stiles arches his back and bears his neck when Derek shifts slightly and hits his sweet spot dead on. The thrusts devolve more, forced, relentless rutting as Stiles rises to meet every thrust. Derek aims for that spot on every thrust, forcing more whining cries from his mouth. Stiles pulls Derek down, pushing his face into his own neck, letting Derek leave a hickey the size of mars on his neck.

Derek roars in complete pleasure, the idea of his mark on his mate pushing him over the edge. Stiles whines at the feel of it, feeling himself fall over the edge, and down into an abyss of pleasure. They both scream each other’s names as the come, helplessly slowing down the circling of their hips as the pleasure spikes into sensitivity. 

. . . . 

What was certainly minutes but felt like hours later, they're both on their sides, looking into each others eyes. Derek scans Stiles' body, notices soft, finger shaped bruises on his hips, all from Derek's hands. He doesn't feel as guilty as he thinks he would, but the wolf screams with satisfaction. Derek can feel Stiles memorizing the scars, his hands following the flow gently, his eyes following. 

Derek finally forces the words from his mouth, needing to tell Stiles the truth. “I should've died you know, in the fire. But I didn't because, well I got out first, and well, I’m- I. I love you too, Stiles, and that’s why I need to tell you. I’m- I’m not like you. Please hear me out, but I’m a.. werewolf.”

He expects hatred, disgust, but not the gaping laugh that Stiles gives him. Derek doesnt laugh, and Stiles chuckles harder before saying breathlessly, "No way. Prove it and I wont get up and leave.” 

Derek quirks an eyebrow, feels the shift of bones, the unnatural sinking and reshaping of his entire being, pulling at the scars.  When he opens his eyes again, Stiles is looking at him with narrowed eyes. 

The only thing Stiles says is, “Oh my god, this entire time I believed that Wolfy had been avoiding me. This whole time you could be this ball of fluff? This is awesome Derek!” 

Derek shifts back, feeling disbelief polluting his face along with all those scars. Stiles just smiles at him and brushes the hair away from Derek’s less marked forehead. Derek smiles in relief, but he has more to say, “It’s my fault they died.  I was dating this older women. She made me think- Just it urns out she was a hunter, and she broke in when I wasn't supposed to be home. I got out of the fire first, but she used a spell and wolfsbane- it’s why I’m covered in these scars.” Stiles shifts, making a grab for Derek but Derek leans back, “There’s more. You know what I am, know that I called you that day with those stupid eggs- my wolf needed to meet you because I think you may be my mate.” 

This time Stiles pulls back, looking at him in disbelief. “That’s a thing?” he asks, soft but calm.

Derek looks at him feeling panic grow in his chest, “Yeah, it’s a thing. And you’re kind of that thing for me. But werewolves mate for life- we’ll officially be mates if I- if I knot you.”

Stiles looks at him, probably calculating every single outcome of this conversation before asking quietly, “Do you want that? I mean, I can definitely get on board. I’ve never once joked about how I feel- I love you Derek, and I may be yours, but you're mine too.”

Derek looks at him, love and reverence and plain joy in his eyes. Stiles smiles back, hoping that his expression can mirror Derek’s to show how he feels. 

They roll together, until Derek is lightly cradling Stiles in his arms, both of them cuddling like soft woodland creatures (ha). Stiles of course, adds to the moment by whispering softly against Derek’s scarred hand, “I’m happy that I had the balls to make it up to your door on that first day.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can probably do another version of the epilogue too. Hope it wasn't too bad!


	4. Derek's Epilogue

It happened about an hour after they had an early dinner. Stiles had been sitting at the table, both of them still naked, a contemplative look on Stiles' face before saying, "I want you to knot me. Tonight, I mean, if that's okay." Derek had frozen, dropping both of their bowls of fruit loops to the floor. He won't lie; the thought immediately flashed in his brain, accompanied by the image of knotting Stiles tight, officially making him his mate. 

He was across the room to Stiles' smirking face in a flash, kissing the smirk off of Stiles' face. They stumble blindly back into the bedroom, running into walls and doors along the way. Derek can feel himself sinking into his instincts; claws threatening to come out, his face shifting halfway, fangs catching on lips and tongues. Derek pulls back- can't hurt Stiles- but Stiles just huffs, annoyed and pulls him back in. 

Mumbling against his lips, Stiles tells Derek quietly, "You realize that this goes both ways right? I'm not some weak little human; I'm your mate." At the last word Stiles surges forward, kissing Derek with everything he has. Derek whines, pushing Stiles to the bed and covering his body with his own. Suddenly they stop, simply staring at each other, panting chests and glazed expressions. Stiles slowly smiles up at where Derek is hovering above him, before slowly and deliberately tugging him back down. The kiss is less violent than the ones leading to the room- sweet, slow kisses, tongues curling gently around each other, Stiles stroking the sideburns now covering Derek's face. Stiles licks softly at the fangs, and Derek feels his instinct recede slightly in satisfaction. 

Derek slowly gains control, fangs and shift falling away, claws just barely poking out anymore. Stiles arches into the clawed feeling though as Derek holds him. Stiles reaches down, grabbing Derek's ass and pulling him into a slow grind. The instinct comes back; screaming at Derek to flip Stiles over and just _take_. But the human side- the side looking at Stiles' soft, happy face knows that he needs it like this. Needs to be able to look into his mates' eyes. 

Derek reaches for the lube, and Stiles makes a confused face. "I just want to make sure. I- I don't want to hurt you." Derek feels himself blush, his scars probably fading slightly as the blood rushes away from them and to his cheeks. Stiles leans up and kisses the blush, a soft, easy smile on his face when he pulls back. Derek forces his claws away as he lubes Stiles up again- focusing on stretching him out more, but Derek can't help the occasional drag on Stiles' prostate. Can't help seeing the hitch in Stiles' breath that matches the one in his hips. Derek smirks at him. The smirk falls though when Stiles huffs, grabbing the lube and spreading it on his own hands as he reaches for Derek's cock. 

Derek's hips buck at the feeling, his knot already beginning to form at the sensations. They both pull their hands away, Derek bottoming out in one smooth, slick thrust. Stiles arches his back, his eyes unseeing as they stare blankly at the ceiling. Derek's eyes roll too- his vision going white at the tight heat squeezing like a vice around him. The thrusts are slow, Derek wanting it to last longer than their first time. He grinds his hips slowly, dragging his own arousal across where he knows Stiles needs it on every push in. Stiles is a little quieter as they go slower, soft groans and keens flowing from his mouth. 

Feeling his knot beginning to catch at Stiles' rim, Derek begins to gasp directly into Stiles' ear, "Stiles- I'm, I'm gonna knot. Is this okay-" Stiles throws his head back, letting out a harsh whine at Derek's words, his body responding to his mates. Derek feels it click into place, both of their instincts responding now as the thrusts devolve and grow sloppy and fast. He pushes in all the way- Stiles letting out a pleasured scream at the feeling of being stretched on his mates knot. Derek begins a slow circular grind, unable to pull out. Stiles grows impossibly tight around him, his neck bared, and Derek just follows his instincts. 

Leaning down, Derek kisses Stiles neck softly, before sinking his teeth into the meeting of Stiles' shoulder and neck. Derek makes sure not to break the skin- just needs his mark, his claim on his mate. Stiles sobs as he comes between them, fully claimed. Derek follows, his orgasm hitting him like a bullet to the stomach- hot rushes leave him feeling drained as he knots. 

. . . . .

Afterward, they had spent hours cuddling, tied together comfortably on their sides. Stiles had slept for a while, drifting off as he followed the flowing pattern of scars on Derek's chest. Derek had simply gazed at Stiles- his mate, his chosen one. They'd had sex twice more while they were knotted, Stiles marking Derek with a bite of his own and his come painted into Derek's chest. 

. . . . . 

Hours later, they were back at the table, this time eating pop tarts. This is when Peter chose to saunter into the house. Derek watched from his seat next to Stiles as Stiles froze with a pop tart half way to his mouth, eyes and mouth gaping at Peter. It clicked in Derek's brain then- Stiles had no idea. Oh, shit.

Derek quietly explained to Stiles under his breath that Peter was wolf too- had been able to heal without scars because he hadn't gotten the worst of it like Derek. Peter quirks his brow, nose stretching comically as he sniffs the air. He smirks at the two of them, Stiles ears and face turning bright red. This is when Peter chooses to talk. "I want to let you know, you won't be getting a raise just because you're part of the family now."

Derek groans into his hands as Stiles gets up from the table, tripping as he stumbles back to the bedroom.

. . . . .

Years later, Stiles has finally got Derek adjusted to real life- being around people who may double take when they first see Derek, and just being around people in general. Derek hated it all, but endured it for Stiles. It took months after they were mated, but Stiles finally got Derek to leave the house to bring him to work. Stiles owed him a week of blow jobs for that. Totally worth it, in Derek's opinion.

They had a baby now, not in the fanfic internet porn way; Stiles still can't get pregnant just because he was mated to a wolf. They adopted two werewolf babies from a surprising well kept underground werewolf network. All very top secret and cool in Stiles' opinion, and sometimes Derek had to remind him that they weren't actually animals. The argument was made invalid though, when Derek had spent the next hour just breathing on Stiles' neck. But the kids- they were twins and they were perfect and the center of both their worlds. They named the oldest (by two minutes she ensures we add) Talia, and the youngest little wolf Claudia. They have a life now, together in every way. Derek couldn't ask for more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Typos. They happen. Sorry. Will post the rest tomorrow, although I'm sure if anyone's reading this than they probably know the ending.


End file.
